


A Kitten for You

by MannaTea



Series: Rewritten, Reborn, Revived [16]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MannaTea/pseuds/MannaTea
Summary: “I need to find her a home tonight. Papa says she can’t come back with me. She’s the last one left, and she’s a bit of a runt, but…”
Series: Rewritten, Reborn, Revived [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/653711
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	A Kitten for You

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written and posted on March 17, 2011. The original title was “Boy With Kittens” but it’s been changed to reflect a type of story I wrote a lot of in the olden days, à la “A Kitten for [Character].”

Stormwind’s a busy place, and you’re walking down the crowded streets in the usual fashion. You’ve got things to do, people to see, and even though you’re not in a particular hurry, you don’t feel like dawdling. Unsavory characters tend to come out at night, and you’d prefer to have your errands finished—and a mostly safe room secured at one of the more respectable inns—before the sun goes down.

Your feet move a little faster as the sun dips in the west. There’s a shout and you’re nearly flattened against the side of a building by someone on horseback, thoughtlessly galloping down the narrow side street. It seems everyone’s in a hurry, probably thinking the same as you. Travelers press in around you, the smell of sweat and horses and smoke filling the air.

Fingers grasp your arm. You reach for your weapon on instinct, but it’s a small hand. Soft.

They belong to a child. It takes every ounce of self-control to stay your own hand. The sigh you let out is a garbled mix of frustration and fear and relief. Does instinct dictate your actions so fully that anyone who might startle you could be cut down without hesitation?

Such a shame, what war does to a person, but such things are the reality, now, and you can scarcely remember a time when your life didn’t revolve around one conflict or another.

The kid starts speaking, and you hurriedly shuffle both of you toward the edge of the crowded street where it’s safer.

“...had kittens,” he’s saying as you press your back against the wall that separates Old Town from the canals. For a moment, you’re confused, but when you look more closely, you see a tiny white creature curled up against the boy’s chest, nestled into the crook of his arm. He holds the sleepy thing up, and it stares at you with something like interest flickering in its eyes.

Odd-eyed, you can’t help but notice.

“She’s real good,” the boy tells you, and you’re shaking your head almost before the words form.

No, no, you think. You’re always off doing things. You don’t even have a _house_ —

“She follows you around just like a dog,” he insists, his wide blue eyes making you feel some measure of guilt for daring to think of refusing him.

The kitten’s pink pawpads wave around in the air a bit, and it opens its mouth in a wide yawn.

_She_ , you remind yourself. She. The boy said the kitten was a girl. But then you wonder why gender would even begin to matter in this instance, and you shake your head again.

Well, she _is_ kind of cute. And pretty. Those eyes. One blue, one green. Bright and happy colors.

“Please?” he asks. “I need to find her a home tonight. Papa says she can’t come back with me. She’s the last one left, and she’s a bit of a runt, but…”

Your hands are reaching out for the little thing almost before it registers in your mind that you’re doing it.

_Wait a minute_ , you think as a small frown stretches across your lips. _What am I doing?!_

But you’re not given time to contemplate this life-changing decision. The boy tugs on your sleeve and holds out a small wicker basket in one hand, and then puts his free hand out, palm up. “Thirty-six silver,” he tells you seriously, nodding toward the basket. “That way she don’t get lost and you can carry her around.”

You dig for change, though you can’t quite reason out the why of it. You definitely don’t need a cat. Or any pet, really. Ever.

You place a gold coin into his palm and he gasps, shoving it directly into his pocket. “I made the basket myself,” he says, his words earnest. “It has a lid that opens and closes on a hinge, see?”

Nodding absently, overwhelmed by this latest turn of events in your already-chaotic life, you feel the kitten squirm in your hand. It’s— _she’s_ —probably uncomfortable. You shift your grip and she settles down.

“Thanks a bunch,” the kid says, and reaches up to pet the kitten on the head before he gets onto his toes and presses a kiss against the soft fur there. “I know you’ll give her a good home.” His eyes are glassy as he turns away, and for a moment, you wonder about it.

After the boy disappears into the crowd, you look down at the kitten. The fingers of your free hand rub thoughtfully at her soft pink ears, and you shake your head, chest heaving with a sigh.

What on _Azeroth_ are you going to do with a _kitten_?!

Well, it’s too late to change things now, you tell yourself, and the darkening sky reminds you of your errands, so you carefully place your curious new friend into the basket and lower the lid. Through the open weaving on the top, you can see her blinking up at you.

You push back into the street, arms held protectively around the little basket.

You should probably start thinking of a name.

**Author's Note:**

> Back in the day, the "White Kitten" was something I tried to acquire on every character I made. You see, when I began playing WoW, I myself had an odd-eyed white cat who had been a street-rescue kitten, herself. She was there for me through all the best and worst parts of being an adult, a tiny spark of solace and comfort when I needed it. On March 10, 2020, cancer forced me to say goodbye to her one last time. I still miss her more than I can say. 
> 
> Her name was CiCi and I rewrote this story for her.


End file.
